Aubade
by Ariaeris
Summary: Hopeless and near-helpless, Harry throws himself into the past as a last-ditch effort to destroy Voldemort once and for all. Predictably, things do not go exactly as planned. For Kamerreon's birthday!


_**Aubade**_

_Chapter 1: Claret Ash_

_We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future._

_- George Bernard Shaw_

* * *

"You don't need to do this, Harry," Hermione whispered, her strength fading rapidly as she clutched at Harry's hand. "There are still a few members of the Order left. You could rally them, fight with them; this time's hope isn't dead yet."

"Mine is though," Harry answered, careful not to let his tears show in his voice. Never had he thought that the attack that had cost Hermione her sight had been a blessing, but he was grateful that she could not see his silent crying. He wanted her last moments to be as painless as possible, and if she could see the weary, hopeless look he knew his emerald eyes carried, it would break her dying heart.

"Harry…" she wheezed, her breath coming in staccato bursts, and Harry could practically feel the life leaving her. "Time is not something that is to be manipulated carelessly."

"I know." Harry tried to smile, more for his benefit than hers. "It hasn't been that long since our Third year, Hermione."

The brilliant witch chuckled wetly, and Harry's grasp on her thin hand tightened at the sight of crimson blood staining her lips.

"Nice to know that something I lectured you two about sunk in."

Something in Hermione's sightless eyes dimmed, and Harry brushed a kiss against her forehead.

"You'll soon be with Ron, Hermione," Harry murmured, and a flash of near-euphoric glee flittered over her face.

"Yes, that's right." Hermione tried to meet his gaze, but she ended up staring over his shoulder at the top of the church they were hiding in. "Time itself is immutable Harry. This spell… it won't send you back in time exactly. This present is doomed to Voldemort's rule."

"I know," Harry said, and Hermione said no more for a long time. The sound of heavy footfalls halting before their hideout send an instinctive lurch of fear lancing through the young savior, but he stifled the reaction with the ease of a hardened soldier.

"Instead," Hermione began once more, drawing on the last reserves of her strength. "This spell will send you to a past identical to ours. The moment you arrive, the past will have changed, splintering the timeline. A new future will be born, one that you can alter unlike this one."

Harry nodded resolutely, knowing she couldn't see the motion. Even if he couldn't save this… reality, he supposed, he could still do something.

"Don't worry, Hermione. This won't be in vain. I will be able to destroy that man before he was even born," Harry said reassuringly, and Hermione smiled as best she could.

"Harry," she said reproachfully, but Harry carefully covered her mouth with his hands. Faintly, he could hear a serpentine hiss that spoke of Voldemort's presence, and he knew it was time.

"I need to go, Hermione," Harry said quickly, drawing his magic around him like a cloak. Steadily, he went through the steps they had long since prepared together for this moment, trying to calm himself as pain blossomed in the scar Voldemort had given to him.

"Harry, please, listen to me," Hermione pleaded, reaching out for him. Harry walked away though, out of her grasp, and she could not follow him. The severing charm on her legs, cast by some no-name Death Eater just before they had managed to enter their Fidelius-protected church, had taken away her ability to walk and was the cause of her imminent death. "No matter what, there is always hope! Think of those you are leaving behind! Please, Harry…"

Harry couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth, that there wasn't any hope. That Voldemort had only grown more powerful over time, that he had conquered Britain while they had been scrambling around in their search for his horcruxes. That France had fallen to a surprise attack and the Spanish magical community had been forcefully bound to his service. That spies set years ago in China and Japan had managed to corrupt both nations from within and that, after years of bombardment on all sides, both the magical and muggle societies in the States had collapsed, opposed to the Dark Lord to the very end, and the rest of the world had soon followed. That there was no hope left whatsoever and that, nearly a decade after he had been reborn, Voldemort's only powerful dissenters were trapped inside a church in the middle of nowhere, both about to die by the Dark Lord's wand.

"Hermione…" Harry said softly, watching as his magic slowly became visibly, spiraling around him and making him glow rufescent. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me, but…" He shook his head, hearing the banging on the church's doors grow louder. The heavy oak was shattering, and he could hear Voldemort's shrill voice shouting commands to his minions

"Of course," Hermione murmured, the last of her life bleeding away. "There is nothing… you could do… that I… could not… for…"

His magic built to a crescendo, and Harry latched on to Hermione's dying magic, dragging it towards him and binding it with his own. With a scarlet flash, his magic exploded outwards, rushing through the church's doors and obliterating the Death Eaters that stood there.

In the moment before his consciousness fled, Harry almost thought he could hear Voldemort's agonized shrieks. The thought was comforting enough to lull him into slumber.

* * *

Tom's head snapped up as a melodious sound echoed through the night, piercing the heavy silence he had been riding in. The dark, tangled branches of the high trees surrounding him shuddered ominously, and the chattering of wildlife abruptly ceased, leaving the forest eerily silent as the sound faded.

"What could that have been?" Tom asked himself out loud, and his horse whinnied. He slid off it gracefully, quieting it with a hush.

It was times like these where he damned his innate curiosity. The sudden cessation of normalcy was not something that should be examined, but he felt the impossible-to-ignore urge to investigate.

Tom frowned. It almost felt like something magical had occurred, but he scoffed at the childish thought. The only ones who spoke of such ridiculous things were those despicable Gaunts that haunted the outskirts of Little Hangleton.

"Hello?" Tom asked as he cautiously made his way farther into the forest, leading his horse behind him. Unspoken knowledge lingered in the steed's dark eyes, and that oddity urged him onward, no matter how ridiculous he felt. "Is anyone there?"

A low groan answered him, and Tom rushed towards the sound, worried that someone had been hurt. Who knows how long they had been in the forest, a dangerous place for the ill-prepared, even more so in the depths of winter as it was!

Eventually, he found himself in a snow-covered clearing, and he looked around for whoever had been in pain. His gaze quickly landed on a prone figure on the ground, which was covered with a light dusting of snow. Rushing over to it, Tom shook the figure, his breath catching when it- no he, was revealed.

In the course of his life, his parent's wealth had delivered to him only the best and most beautiful things in the world. In and out of his life traveled the finest of foods, entertainment, and people, and he had made sure to disassociate himself with anything that, under the constant scrutiny of his status-hungry peers who would only be too happy to label him as a slummer, could be seen as reprehensible. His parents had been rich and unafraid to show it, his 'friends' had been snobbish and he had adopted their actions in order to not be seen as an outsider, and he had made sure to seems stand-offish, if not outright mocking, to the inhabitants of Little Hangleton, in order to please his ever-criticizing parents.

All that was wiped from his mind as he stared at the most beautiful face he had ever seen, awed by its quiet solemnity. The man in his arms was not beautiful in the traditional sense; not beautiful like the women constantly paraded in front of him in the hopes of one day being his wife, or even his one true friend, Cecilia, but he was beautiful nonetheless. Something about the arch of his cheekbones, his eyelashes that cast shadows on his pale cheeks, or the dark marks under his eyes that spoke of exhaustion and humanity, made him absolutely gorgeous in a fey-like way.

Tom gulped. Something about this man was preternatural, and he was almost tempted for the briefest of moments to flee back to his horse and pretend he had never seen him. As the notion passed, he sneered, disgusted with himself. What an appalling thought…

He lifted the other man, biting his lip at how light the stranger felt. His dark eyes gazed at the faded crimson stains on the man's odd clothing that could be nothing but blood, wondering what had happened to the man who looked so weary, even as he slept.

Tom sighed as he made his way back to his horse, carefully setting the stranger on its saddle and sitting behind him, making sure to hold the other close to him. He flicked the horse's reigns lightly and it began to walk back towards the path it had been on before this odd little detour.

Cecilia would know where to go from here. She knew best after all, as she was fond of reminding him.

* * *

Harry slowly awoke to the sound of soft murmurs, a steady alto undercut by a firm baritone, and the crackling warmth of a nearby fireplace that very nearly sent him back to sleep. He resisted though, but kept silent, trying to gather his muddled thoughts.

"…at you want me to do, Tom," the alto said, and Harry tried to form a picture in his mind of the woman speaking. She sounded tired, as if she had been working long and hard, but there was a firmness that spoke of great strength hidden underneath her words.

"I couldn't just leave him there!" the baritone exclaimed quietly, and Harry could hear the man's clothes rustle as he stepped closer to Harry. "Who knows how long he had been out there? If I had not found him, he could very well have frozen to death in that forest!"

A forest? He was not supposed to have arrived in a forest, but outside the Gaunt's house…

Harry sat up with a gasp, clutching at his chest as he desperately sucked in air. Everything came rushing back to him all at once: the War, Voldemort, his mission, everyone, Ron, Hermione, all the death, and Harry could barely breathe through the sudden onslaught of painful memories.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him. "Are you alright?" the man asked.

Harry's eyes opened, tracing the pale hand with their gaze and following it up a strong arm and broad shoulder to land on a frighteningly familiar face. Harry stifled a sharp burst of horror as he stared at the face so alike to Voldemort's, back before he had begun the creation of his horcruxes and the hellish transformation that had overtaken his visage.

Unbeknownst to the stricken savior, Tom Riddle was in awe of the stranger's verdant eyes. If he had thought the man beautiful before, then just the sight of those gems redefined the very meaning of beauty for him. The fear in those eyes hurt though, hurt in a worrying way that hinted at the possibility of things that were, for the moment, best left unthought-of.

"My name is Tom Riddle," Tom said soothingly, figuring that introductions were the best place to start. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would even be able to have a name for the beauty.

Cecilia stepped up beside him, and the stranger looked at her oddly, as if grateful that he would not need to look at Tom any longer. Or perhaps he was just being paranoid, though there was an irritating precedent; all the men he had ever been interested in before had been more interested in her than him after all.

"I am Cecilia Hall," she said, slowly sitting on the bed they had lain the stranger in, watching him for any adverse reaction. When none came, she smiled brightly at the startled man. "If I might ask, what is your name?"

The man looked indecisive for a long moment, staring at his clasped hands until he whispered two words so quietly that they needed to strain their ears to catch them. "Harry Potter."

Tom frowned slightly as Cecilia complimented him on his name, causing Harry to blush. Neither name was incredibly uncommon, but he had never met a Harry Potter in the nearby lands. Had he been traveling and gotten lost in the forest? Did he have any companions? And was there any way that he had any relation to that mysterious sound he had heard earlier?

"Excuse me," Harry said quietly, and Tom started, realizing that the other man had been trying to get his attention for quite some time while he was lost in thought.

"Please forgive me for my rudeness," Tom said formally, and he could see Cecilia roll her eyes when Harry wasn't looking.

"It's fine," Harry replied, biting his lip in a way that was much more attractive then it should have been. Tom could feel his cheeks grow warm, and Cecilia's blue eyes shone with laughter. "I was just wondering where exactly I am."

"You don't know?" Tom asked. "Outside of Greater Hangleton, our town is the only one around for quite some time."

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, and Tom almost swore as he looked away ashamedly. All the humor was gone from Cecilia's glare. "But I really don't know."

"Tom found you some ways into the forest nearby, Harry," Cecilia said. "He brought you here, to my house in Little Hangleton, because he is utterly incompetent without my assistance."

Tom sputtered at his oldest friend's comments, but good humor and something almost victorious shone in Harry's beautiful eyes, so he let the matter drop.

"Thank you for helping me, but I really must be going," Harry said, and Tom stiffened as he tried to stand up. The older man caught Harry as he predictably stumbled on his weak legs and settled him back into bed with a stern glare.

"What part of 'found you in a forest' did you not understand?" Tom asked irritably. "You're not going anywhere in the state you're in."

"For once, Tom is right," Cecilia said, rising off the bed gracefully. "Just lay back and relax; Tom and I will be right back, and I'll have some food for you as well. You look like you need something warm to fill you up."

For a second, rebellion flashed in Harry's eyes, but he sighed as he relaxed on the bed, nodding once before settling in for a quick nap. Tom and Cecilia quietly made their way out of the bedroom and started down the hall towards the kitchen.

"God, Tom," Cecilia sighed, shaking her head. "How do you always get involved in these sorts of things?"

"You make it sound like I carry half-frozen strangers to your door every other night," Tom groused.

"That's not what I meant," Cecilia huffed. "I swear, you attract the oddest of people. First that Gaunt tramp and now this young man…"

Tom's face twisted in revulsion. "Please don't compare Harry to that woman."

"You're right," Cecilia said with a devious grin. "Harry is much prettier, is he not?" Tom said nothing in return, and Cecilia laughed gaily. "You always did like your pretty things, Tom."

"Silence," Tom commanded, silently cursing his pale skin and how easily embarrassment could stain it vermillion.

* * *

The next day, Harry was carefully transported to the empty Riddle Manor, vacated by both of Tom's parents who were in London on an extended visit for reasons Tom had not deigned to share. For the first two nights there, Harry had been tense, remembering his summertime dream where Voldemort had used the manor as a hideaway and the merciless murder of the caretaker who he sometimes saw working at something or another. Eventually though, both Tom and Cecilia chipped away from his tension, easing him into the time he had arrived in.

Cecilia had moved in with the two, something that had drawn a few raised eyebrows from the inhabitants of Little Hangleton, but the willful blonde ignored the rumors that assailed her reputation with ease. She had long been friends with Tom, something rarely found in the dog-eat-dog world of high society, and it had only taken a single look into Harry's solemn green eyes for Cecilia to, in her own way, fall in love with him as well. So what if she was called a few filthy names from a few of the more raucous inhabitants of the small town? She was with her friends, and that was all that mattered.

Oftentimes, the three could be found in the manor's garden, reading quietly together or talking about this or that. Both had been horrified at Harry's dearth of reading experience, and had quickly shoved novel after novel in the young man's arms, some he recognized as classics in his day and age and others he had never heard of before. Soon though, Harry could join in with the two's discussions, and they would spend hours examining authors and their novels.

Some days, Cecilia would speak about the beauty of the world outside of Britain, and how she longed to be able to embrace it. She talked about France and her visits to her cousins there, and of the one time she was able to travel to Italy, and how she longed to return. Every time the subject was brought up, the two old friends would glance at each other, and then at Harry, almost as if in thought, but Harry could never understand what the pair was thinking.

When the weather began to warm, Tom took Harry out horseback riding, instructing him on how to sit and how to treat the animals with the respect they deserved, not that he needed to. The horses loved Harry, and whenever they visited the stables, they would rush to the green-eyed man's side, nuzzling him and begging for apples that he was always willing to provide. Cecilia thought it was hilarious, privately joking with Tom that the greatest rivals for Harry's heart would be the horses.

There were times when Harry would need to be alone though and mourn the loss of his closest friends, and though Tom and Cecilia were confused when their friend decided to isolate himself, they gave him his space and would travel into town together. It was during one such excursion when Harry was forcibly reminded of exactly why he had traveled back in time.

* * *

"Harry!?" Cecilia shouted, hunched under the weight of Tom, who leaned heavily on her, nearly unconscious. "Harry!"

"Cecilia, what's-" Harry sad as he sprinted into the foyer, pausing as he caught sight of Tom. "Tom! What happened?"

"I don't know!" Cecilia said hysterically. "We were passing by that Godforsaken house owned by the Gaunts and, out of nowhere, one of those disgusting ogres pointed a stick at Tom and, and…"

Harry froze, color draining out of his cheeks. How could he have been so idiotic as to have forgotten what had started the whole spiral that ended with Voldemort's birth? All the lessons he had had with Dumbledore; had he forgotten them in the idyllic time he had spent with Tom and Cecilia?

Harry reached a trembling hand out to brush through Tom's dark hair, wincing as he observed what his stupidity had cursed the man with. His skin was covered with painful looking hives that reeked of dark intent and magic. He could remember now, remember everything; this was Morfin Gaunt's doing, and tomorrow Bob Ogden would arrive to wipe Tom's memory of the events surrounding his cursing and attempt his first arrest of the two eldest Gaunts. Eventually, Morfin and Marvolo Gaunt would be arrested, leaving Merope alone, and she would spend her newfound freedom brewing Amortentia to seduce Tom away, leading to Voldemort's conception.

Harry swallowed his revulsion at the whole affair and cast a wandless Cheering Charm on Cecilia. A Calming Draught would be better, but he had none on hand, so he would have to make-do with what he had.

"Cecilia," Harry called quietly, and she turned frantic blue eyes on him. His heart clenched as he realized that this was the end of his friendship with the two best friends, and that fact hurt worse than he expected it to. "Place Tom on the ground."

"What? Harry, we need to call a doctor, or a priest, or something!" Cecilia exclaimed. "We can't just leave Tom lying on the ground!"

"Cecilia," Harry said firmly, his voice layered with a light Compulsion Charm. Harry's eyes softened, and Cecilia felt herself calm down instinctually. "Please, just trust me."

"Alright, Harry," Cecilia whispered, watching in anguish as Tom flinched as his back hit the cold marble floor of the manor. Harry quickly made his way to Tom's side, kneeling on the ground on Tom's right. Cecilia sat as well, burying her face in her hands.

"Harry, I don't even know what happened back there," she confessed. "One second Tom and I were just talking and the next second he's writhing and these hives are just appearing, out of nowhere, on his skin. I couldn't do anything at all to help him except rush us back home as fast as possible." She released a frustrated sound as she tugged at her hair, and Harry leaned over Tom to slowly untangle her hands from her long, blonde locks.

"Everything will be alright, Cecilia," Harry said, making a snap decision. Perhaps this wasn't the best of times to reveal his magic, but he honestly didn't care. Tom was in pain because of something he could have prevented, and he could do something to ease that pain. Even if Cecilia hated him, even if Tom could never stand to look at him again, Harry knew he couldn't just keep hiding this secret from his friends nor would he ever be able to forgive himself if he let Tom suffer for a single second longer when he could help him.

"Please forgive me," Harry begged near inaudibly, resting a hand on Tom's forehead lightly. Cecilia looked at him in confusion before gasping as he began to glow, the air around him turning a rich garnet. A slight wind began to blow even though no windows were open, and Cecilia lurched forward to stop him instinctually, only to stop as Harry's brilliantly blazing eyes met hers over Tom's body. She settled back on her heels, watching the two in awe as the hives began to vanish as mysteriously as they had appeared.

"Cecilia?" Tom asked, his voice raspy as he awoke. "Harry?"

"Goodbye, Tom," Harry said, unable to look at the other man as he stood and made his way towards the manor's doorway. "Goodbye, Cecilia."

"Harry!" Cecilia called shakily, scrambling to her feet without her usual grace, but Harry was already gone, apparating away as soon as the door shut behind him.

* * *

Harry appeared in the middle of the Gaunt house, eyes closed for the briefest of seconds. They snapped open at the sound of a hissed curse, and he threw himself to the side, watching a pale yellow stream of light fly past him. Harry made a slashing motion with his hand, a bright silver shield appearing in its wake, intercepting a bone-breaking hex.

All action froze as the three Gaunts stared in awe at the casual display of wandless magic, and Harry took the opportunity to propel Merope back into one of the walls and bind her there and send a stunner at Morfin.

The younger Gaunt erected a quick shield, but Harry banished it, almost smiling at the feeble replica of the potent shield Voldemort had conjured while dueling Dumbledore at the Ministry of Magic so many years ago.

His amusement quickly fled as a knife slammed into his shoulder, and Harry's vision blackened at the sudden spike of incredible pain. He wrenched the knife out painfully, tossing it to the side and glaring at a sneering Marvolo as he healed the deep wound.

Harry quickly took check of his magic as he swept his uninjured arm up, holding a hand over his heart as he focused. A gold shield surrounded him, halting Marvolo's next curse before it came anywhere near close to him. Wandless magic, especially magic as intricate as he had been using to heal both Tom and himself and create his shields, was taxing work that he could not keep up for long. With no wand though, it was all he could do, so Harry dispelled his shield and relied on his agility to dodge the lunatic's curses instead of wasting his limited reserves.

No matter how powerful he was though, Marvolo was old and tired quickly, and as soon as he faltered, Harry banished his wand and stunned him, conjuring rope to bind both him and his son. The two biggest threats taken care of, Harry turned to stare at the frightened Merope, confused at what he was supposed to do with her.

This was the mother of Voldemort, the one who had drugged and raped Tom under the delusion that he could love her like she loved him. But she was also a young woman who had been abused and ridiculed by her family ever since she had been born and who was destined for unhappiness.

Back when the idea of traveling to the past first had been planted in his mind, he had thought that he could curse her, make her barren, maybe even rip away whatever magic she had entirely. All those thoughts seemed so callous now, but what could he do to ensure that Voldemort would never be born without hurting this poor woman more than she already had been? Could he even do that, or should he just do what was best for that infamous 'greater good?'

Harry sighed. He didn't have an answer, and he was tired, so incredibly tired. He needed to slip back into Riddle Manor unseen, gather his few possessions, and flee. He couldn't face Cecilia or Tom ever again, too afraid of the revulsion he was sure he would see on their faces at the sight of him.

With one last glance at Merope, Harry apparated away, heart heavy with the knowledge that traveling to the past had accomplished nothing but breaking his heart more than it already had been.

* * *

"I figured you would come here, eventually."

Harry froze at the deep voice that had spoken as soon as he had appeared in the stables at the manor. Slowly, he looked up into conflicted dark eyes, wincing at the emotions he found there.

"Did you think you were going to take one of my horses and run, Harry?" Tom said lightly, and Harry looked away guiltily. Tom snorted, striding towards him. "I see. Then I suppose you don't care about Cecilia at all."

"What are you-!" Harry started as he realized how close Tom was, and he took a quick step backwards.

"You must not care a single bit about how Cecilia cried as soon as you left, heartbroken because she thought you believed she hated you," Tom hissed, and Harry tensed as he realized he was being backed into one of the stable's walls. "You must not care either about how I felt, do you?"

"Tom, wait!" Harry shouted, wincing as Tom pushed his back against the wall, pressing him against it with his body.

Tom was furious though, and Harry's protests fell on deaf ears. "Do you really trust us that little, Harry? Do you think something as… insignificant as this changes how we feel about you? Or are you just that blind?"

"I don't understand," Harry said softly, and Tom groaned as he collapsed against Harry, burying his face in Harry's hair and wrapping his arms around the smaller man.

"You…" Tom began, trying to find the words to say what he meant. "You know how much Cecilia wants to travel the world, right?"

Harry blinked, confused by the odd question. Nevertheless, he nodded as best he could, and Tom's arms tightened around him.

"We were hoping you'd come with us," Tom confessed, stunning Harry. "We still do. God, Harry, neither of us care what the hell you are; we're damned enough as it is, so what's a little magic to add to the mess?"

Despite himself, Harry chuckled a little bit and rested his head on Tom's shoulder. "We're damned, huh?"

"Comes with loving two people at the same time," Tom said wryly, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. "The fact that you're a man and a…"

"Wizard?" Harry offered breathlessly, and he could feel Tom's smile as he brushed a kiss against his cheek.

"Is that so? Well, a man and a wizard just makes it doubly as forbidden, ergo, doubly as fun." Harry's chuckling turned into full-blown laughter and Tom joined him without hesitation, filling the stables with their mirth.

"What do you say, Harry?" Tom asked as the laughter died down, stepping away from Harry to look him in the eyes. Those same green eyes that had bewitched him now drew him in as the glowed with nothing less than pure happiness. "Join us?"

Harry didn't even need to think about his answer.

"Of course," Harry said, and Tom's smile turned radiant. "Of course!"

He laughed as Tom swept him up into another hug, feeling all his negative emotions rush out of him and leave him shuddering. The pain of losing his two best friends, no, the two people he loved most of all, the indecision about what he should do with Merope, the fear of rejection; all of it vanished and left him giddy with euphoria.

"Cecilia's going to be so happy," Tom said as they left the stables and began walking back towards the manor, hand-in-hand. "After she slaps you and cries into your chest for an hour, that is."

"That's alright," Harry replied. "I probably deserve it."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you," Tom offered gallantly, and Harry laughed.

"My hero."

"I have saved you once before," Tom reminded, and Harry shook his head.

"You've done it more then once, Tom," Harry confessed, letting go of Tom's hand as the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon. Not too far away, a figure stood at the doorway to Riddle Manor, illuminated by the sun's light. Harry could see the tear tracks on Cecilia's face, but she was smiling bright enough to outshine the sun, and that was what mattered most.

Harry knew that the future was still uncertain and that asking for forgiveness for not trusting in Cecilia and Tom was going to be painful, but it was such a small pain compared to the heartbreak he had been feeling earlier. He now had two people who loved him and who he loved back, a future he thought he could never have, and-

Harry grunted as Cecilia flung herself into his arms, wrenching him away from his introspection and sending him crashing into Tom and, from there, onto the ground in a giant mess of limbs and laughter and a little bit of tears that was, in its own way, exactly as perfect a beginning as he could have ever hoped for.

* * *

/Blows one of those annoying birthday kazoo-paper things/ Happy Birthday, Kam!

Writing this oneshot was… an interesting experience. And by interesting, I mean, painful. Literally nothing went my way with this damn thing. I had a huge 7,000+ word James Sirius/Harry oneshot for you, only to realize about ten minutes before I posted it that I absolutely hated it. So what's a poor writer to do on the eve of his friend's birthday?

Write a whole 'nother damn oneshot, that's what.

So. Tom Riddle Senior/Harry Potter/Cecilia Hall. Hmm.

First of all, to anyone who's like, 'Marii Soo!!!1!!.' I'd like to point out that Cecilia is an actual canon character (though I did giver her the last name Hall). So she's not an OC at the least. Oh, she's OOC, considering that both her and Tom Riddle Senior came off as giant snobs, but when has that ever stopped anyone from writing anything?

On a side note, this is the first Harry/Het story I have ever written. Just for you, Kam (even if it was totally meant to be just Tom Riddle Senior/Harry Potter until I suddenly realized, halfway through the fic, that I damn well wanted a threesome)!

So, again. I broke like every single rule in your contest, but seriously, you knew that was coming anyway. Besides, who wants conventionality (even when it is you who demands it)?

So, enjoy your hastily-written, thrown-together threesome! Love you, you old timer!

To everyone else, a review a day keeps the angsty plunnies away! So please review, and I love you all to a degree so ridiculous that scientific notation can't keep up with it. I love you to infinity times infinity cubed infinitely. That's a lot of love, yo.

…It's almost six and I've been working on this for God knows how long. Cut me some slack; I go insane(-er) when I'm tired!

Ciao, duckies!

Ariaeris~

Ps: Anyone who guesses correctly why I entitled this oneshot Aubade/Claret Ash gets a oneshot!

Pps: Yes, I am aware that there are like a billion hanging plotlines. Please forgive me for my suckiness.


End file.
